


The Magister

by perdita_x_dream



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age Lore, F/M, Lyrium, M/M, Magic, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdita_x_dream/pseuds/perdita_x_dream
Summary: A magister of the Tevinter imperium at the height of achievement, and his very special elven slave intrinsically tied to his accomplishments - and undoing. In the deepest desires and darkest corners of the fade lurks knowledge, promise and repressed hungers.What is worth sacrificing for power?
Relationships: Tevinter magister / Elven Slave
Kudos: 2





	The Magister

**He put down the chalice on the ornate pedestal table**. The metal clinked against the marble surface, faintly echoing through the stone hallways. Silence persevered this low in the cellars, it’s expanses bearing only fragments of the grandeur on the other floors. 

The gold embroidery on his charcoal silk collar glistened in the light of the chandeliers as he stood unmoving, contemplating. One hand on his chin, ponderingly gracing a black well trimmed beard. The flames flickered, casting tall moving shadows across the barren walls. 

He watched her. 

Unspeaking. 

The elf in chains before him. Exasperatedly kneeling, head lowered, hiding her eyes behind unraveled pale locks. 

_Beautiful._

His eyes followed her spine along her quivering body, surveying the shallowly breathing thrall in front of him. Reveling in the sound of her delicate breaths, taking in her fragile paleness, delicious vulnerability, broken aetherial grace. 

_A marvel to be. If only she knew._

He never owned a slave quite like her. Frailty beyond a veil thin paleness, blood bound promises of a time before old gods and forgotten powers. A true spirit, a gentle vehemence; rebellion to break. 

A memory surfaced from when he acquired the fated gem. Beneath the crowded slave markets of Minrathous were darker passageways for those of standing and insight. Without certain scruples.

There he saw her, crouched behind a woman, draped in tatters. Smugglers borne of defected Siccari surpassed anyone at finding the rare and unattainable. Those with blood much needed, properties highly sought. The promise of profitable work or a warm bed, drew them to opportunities mere illusions. The black slave market being their final destination as unfettered.

The wailing of the slave pits faded, bringing back the distant dripping of moisture and scurrying spiders. A slight fizzing from the glowing teal rune encompassing the unflinching elvhenan broke the stillness. 

Runes of various kinds formed an ouroboros of sigils around her, throbbing with magical energies flickering in and out or the air in an inward spiralling motion. As the hints of waves caressed her outlines her skin glimmered with a blue shine. Randomly flares of light would reach out from the circle, spark and flicker away. 

Such was the sacrifice for power. 

✼✼✼

She shivered, albeit refusing to let it show. 

The damp cold of the cellars stretched through spectral skin to her bones, encompassing her in layers of icy agony. Though she hardly felt it at this moment, for what truly disrupted the numbing meditative state conjured was the stinging of the flaring rune energies. 

Their strength unpredictable, spells as old as the sinking of Arlathan, gained through dreamwalks in deep parts of the fade and long nights of candlelit studies of even older parchment scraps. 

No matter the worldly sensations of the fleeting moment, what predominantly ran through her soul was a hazy pride. Endurance as one vehemently honored, chosen _, unique._ Not that she _fully_ understood the purpose and intents of her journey, but she knew her destiny was one of duty and fate, she _felt_ it. 

He had shown her. 

✼✼✼

_He had finally found her._

Magic abilities manifest during childhood, near puberty. No telling exactly when or how, though some seers in Rivain claimed to know spirits with such knowledge. None amenable to travel to Minrathous would turn out to possess the skills of magical premonition, and as he was not willing to travel with the girl to lands filled with qunari savages, he was left to his own devices. 

So he had cared for her like she was his own. He had no children nor any real knowledge of their inner workings, it was all rather theoretical. But he would have it work, and see her hidden; for he knew her potential, as all those of magic abilities who tread near her felt it. Soon they would not have that luxury. He would see her schooled and fed, and no one may lay a hand on her except for him. Slaves needed discipline of course. 

He could never _know_ ; but he had been searching for years on end. He was certain against all sense, puzzling even himself, but the assuredness never left him. _It had to be her._

✼✼✼

Azure light flared. 

She yelled out. The blue energies enveloped her body; fast falling, collapsing convulsing uncontrollably on the wet stone floor in the midst of muddled elaborate rune patterns. 

_It went astray._

The magister’s previous expression of confidence faded at an instant’s notice, while he watched her helplessly drop to the ground. Frozen in mid thought his body would not move as dread filled his being. _Regain your composure!_ He escaped this paralyzing trance and rushed to her side, snapping his fingers to fill the air with protective magic and struggling to hinder the overpowered lyrium circle from causing increasingly excruciating harm. 

_Protect her._

✼✼✼

She went happily to the first experiments when they began. 

High stone walls kept outside noises out, the fireflies would be her friends at night when silence and darkness fell. The gardens spoke to her in the shapes of ever changing lilies and nuances of hagthorn blossoms imbued with magical essence. Artifacts behind glass doors peaked her interest walking the permitted hallways, confined to only know the path of solitude. 

Then something happened. 

The looks she got turned _different_. 

The books she had been given and lessons turned real. She would see small flames flicker in the palms of her hand, disappearing as she blinked. They would talk about control, about discipline. The cane would now only linger at the corner of her eye, as she bent her head and nodded, the sharpness of the words filled with terror. Tales of demons descended upon her worst dreams, consequences of failing, losing it, herself; they only wanted to protect her, they said. 

But there was something they didn’t. 

The room was dim. Her first memory was one of curiosity, a nervous step into an unknown, a flight beyond the stone enclosures for an innocent firefly aglow. 

_He came back._

✼✼✼

He had been away. 

On business, he told himself. In truth his fears grew each passing day that his work was for naught, and he needed a distraction. Danarius’s research was harder to interpret than most; his faith faltered, steps grew heavy. In dark dreams the Crows were sent by covetous rivals, all he endeavoured snatched away before his eyes, signs invariably accessible to the concerned doubter. 

The Circle of Carastes had called on him to supervise higher experimental classes in the intrinsical fade-lyrium complex duality, his old First Enchanter asking as a personal favor. The timing was… uncertain, but he welcomed the chance to focus on different priorities. 

Watching her sleep every night was… unhealthy. 

So he left. Her. Alone. 

In all but name. He left her in the care of a confidant. The tranquil tutor and longtime scholarly aide he had unquestionably come to trust, Marius Invidus. Marius would mentor the girl, shelter her from any outside influence, keep her hidden, keep her safe. Governor and guardian, a watchful eye and pathfinder in all things magical. He would know when. 

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years. Students made progress, became afflicted with lyrium madness, branded tranquil and disappeared. Research continued, relentlessly, blood was in no shortage for veil weakening. The study saw him buried deep in sigils of older and older texts. Magically sealed raven reports reached the circle like clockwork, monotone uncomplicated assurances stating nothing had changed. 

And so one day, everything changed. 

“It has begun.” 

✼✼✼

> _Razikale. Dragon of Mystery._
> 
> _She Who Winds the Skein of Wisdom_

Shapes moving at the corner of her consciousness. Black skies. Black wings. Blackness. 

> _She The Revenge of Lascivious Mages_
> 
> _Death of Fathers_
> 
> _Sacrifice_

Floating. Aquamarine. Fireflies. Upended. Soaring. 

> _Emerging In the Sky_
> 
> _Grant Me Thy Wishes._

_Wake up._

✼✼✼

“Stay very still. Don’t move.”

Very slowly she opened her eyes, first one then the other. The world was a haze. _The pain. The pain! The pain…_ was gone. Or dull, subdued, restrained in ways that made her body remember all, but feel none. Fade walked bruises lingering along dreamways. Like owned pride turning into shame, but forgotten as time dictating it never incipiently existing. 

Light. Fireflies dancing. _Him._

The Magister stood leaned over her. Black hair hanging from his shoulders in a fray, sweat beads ornating his concerned face. He glowed, swaying in and out of her vision. Watching. Tormented. Encompassed in a luminous gloria, his eyes pierced hers. 

She wanted to reach for him, slightly lifting her hand towards… _PAIN_! 

“Don’t move!” he thundered, falling to his knees next to her bed catching her hand pinning it down to the cushions, head bent in fearful defeat. She blinked, watching him, glowing, the room glowing. Where was she? “I…” she croaked. 

“Sshhh...” the magister answered quickly, fixing his eyes on her. Not letting go of her hand, he brought forth a chalice of liquids in strange stirring colors to touch her dry lips. “Drink this. Open.” he said, leaning the cold metal against her parted lips, letting the liquid flow down her throat. 

Images resurfaced within her, clouded reminscens, a notion of floating through nothingness. Glowing. Then light, and the sensation of being lifted, carried in strong arms, upheld and sheltered. Footsteps running. Faint memories of pain. Cold. Warmth. _Pain._

She felt her skin still crackling, moving, writhing intangibly in ethereal spaces between her and absolute otherness. As darkness claimed the visions, the glow lingered. 

The warm feeling had a radiance, a shape. A touch. A face. Fading. 

✼✼✼

He paced up and down the hallway. 

_No. No use. What if… No._ Definitely not.

Discarding theories at lightning speed. Crafting intricate magical concepts, bending possibilities at the limit of the achievable, breaking the rules of plausibility and practicality; and renouncing them all at the instance of formulation. _How about…_ No.

“Excuse me. She is still sleeping.” Marius closed the door behind him. “If that is sleep.” 

_Dalish healers?_ No. _Would..._

Marius looked at him, calmly. The magister slowly turned his head to look at his indispensable associate, eyes filled with gratitude and a complete lack of patience. He would be utterly lost without him, but what use was he now? He was a mere tool, hacking at surface issues without any deeper… _Yes. That was it._

“Prepare the chamber.”

✼✼✼

_He came back to her._

He had been away. Her master had been gone so long. She barely remembered him, but there was a giddiness in the nervous fear for the almost unknown. 

Anticipation, standing on the precipice of change. Where the soul fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss, but alas covets the moment, watching for it. And when it comes, will the heart hesitate to leap? _It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly._

She was leaping, eyes open. 

When he entered the room, the austere study and modest library of the west wing, closest to her beloved garden, her eyes widened. _Master was back._ A jolt of awe shot through her, her pulse a beating drum in her bloodstream, heart in her mouth, all senses _aware_ . Her fingers buzzed with apparitional electricity. _Quiet you._

He looked right at her, as if he could _see her soul._ No matter her attire she was laid bare before his scrutinizing gaze, made bashful in his unmistakably compelling presence. 

His face was different. There was a sadness to the eyes she had not seen before, masked by resolve, marked by years. His beard had grey streaks, his black hair longer, more unkempt. The man from her childhood was a shadow of this towering figure, his appearance carelessly clawing at indiscernible doors deep inside, never awoken. Something primal, longing for temptation. 

Dreams built on memories kept him alive, real but impalpable, a sublime existence of promises and threats of restoring all things lost. It was as if him standing in front of here made him _too real._

“Have you been _good_ , Leyvella?” 

✼✼✼

Enter a new order. Reversal to the old, but rediscovered. 

Who was this girl in front of him, now a young woman? No gazing upon her would answer his questions, lest he cut her open and dissect her every inner corner for truth. Unthinkable, yet alluring, but not accordant with the _final plan._ A plan almost forgotten, buried, biding its time in the depths of consciousness; now to unravel. 

For all the reports could not do her justice. The currents of magicka ran like thick syrup through his senses, trembling with potential, raw aptitude. _He had been right._ It was time to set the proof in motion, lest the opportunity pass. 

He made her tell him about her trainings; the preparation, demonic comprehension, spiritual theory, observations of the raw and refined elements. All within limits and constraints; needed. 

“Rest, my girl. You’re going to need it.” His last words left her alone as he pursued the secret vaults within secret vaults. Glyphs crackling, gestures and ancient commands firing complex unlockings at creaking mechanisms and fog covered fadewoven lock details. 

Knowledge too dangerous to be freed upon the world.

Now to unfold. Take shape. Commandingly carve _the_ shape.

Days and nights of preparations. No time to waste. Scripture, scribbles, candles, blood of the unwilling. Deathroot, Vandal Aria, Crystal Grace. Waning moons, waxing hearts. Air thick with anticipation, intentions, machinations and contrivance. Thick enough to mold. 

“We have enough lyrium for at least a dozen attempts.” Marius stated.

“There will be no _attempts._ Only _achievement_.” the magister rebuffed

_Only perfection._

He could see it clear as day before his inner eye. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. This time Heaven would bow to sin, for no power greater could await. 

_He would show her._

She was too innocent; unknowing, unsuspecting. He felt her trust, as a guilty pleasure. It made it so much easier, she was _willing_. His guiltless charge brim filled with hopes and dreams; deceitful surmises of innocent virtue. 

The time drew nigh. Constellations slowly grinding their way into place. Pawns moved, by will alone. His will. Might within grasp. T _ranscendence_. 

_‘Twas time._

The room was dim. 

Myrrh and candles bedecked all nooks of the otherwise unadorned ritual chamber. The only other elements covering the space were the teal sigils. Some more common than others, some true esoteric writings; apostate brought, reconstructed old elvish, ancient dwarven; even of unknown origin. No sigilmaker or enchanter of the shaperate had recognized the fragments he had brought them. There was no known maker of the most powerful glyph diagrams. 

In the middle of the room stood a single dark tevinter sacrificial ritual table, slightly slanted and perfectly body sized, emanating an unnatural cold. An envy of the claws of Dumat, a sidereal hymn to the celestial bodies appraising the Canticle of Silence. As the stars slowly changed location relative to the world the sacrificial platform would correspond to the current position of the constellations. The universe was in order. 

She was led in. 

Readily, a pale rose for the plucking, blossoming in the pallid moonlike lightning. Colored cheeks soon to be a frightful bloodless tint of ivory, a childlike wonder timidly surveying her surroundings. 

“Undress her.” The words discourteously rang out, void of questioning prospects. 

He doe like eyes watched him as she was disrobed by her tranquil mentor. Her garments meticulously gathered in his hands, in utter silence, slowly, methodically; a nod to the magister and then he parted the chamber. She was left with _him._

There was no hiding, no inquiring, only harsh and still acceptance. The tranquil freedom of the bane of all choices; serene unconditional surrender, the mother of silencio. 

He saw her.

He saw her and it was as if he saw her for the first time. He never knew this ethereal being in front of him, the object of his lives endeavors. This apparition faultless and pristine, carrying all the thaumaturgic potentiality in hushed blood whispers and age-old lineages brim filled with endless power. A project, a dream, a hidden struggle external and internal, hopes and promises - and also a young elven woman. 

He never owned a slave quite like her. Her delightfulness frailty defied all he previously felt. There was an elegance to her exquisite assured suffering. 

_A quiet fervor; a volition to break._

She appeared goddess-like in the candlelight. Her hair falling like snow around her quivering shoulders, alabaster breasts beguiling the beholder to deliriously envisage the softest of sensual circumstances. A waist Maker-made for holding tight and bringing near in dances of yearning, hips hinting at suggestive secrets beyond, painfully enticing in their humble act of daring to exist radiating but the ideation of modesty and nothing else.

The sight of her burned in his mind. Nevermore to be forgotten. 

He walked around her slowly, no words uttered, beholding a new sensation. Akin to an unslaked thirst through the ages, unbeknownst hunger raving for its stilling; unbridled unmasked desire. 

He felt her scent. Her warmth. Stretching out a hand to… _No._

The sigils. The intention. All but prophecy. Will made flesh. Flesh made will… _Should it not come to pass?_ All would love her and despair, so must he. The realization struck as lightning, catching him short of breath, like a punch to the gut. She could not know. Only her purpose must be revealed. So it should be. 

“The first sigil…” he evoked, bringing out a lyrium infused tool glowing cerulean in the cold room. _Lend me strength not to unveil this my carnality._ “You are special, Leyvella.” _Never forget it._ “You are destined for a higher purpose. Have you not felt it? You will feel it, I promise you this.”

“Now lay down, on the dais. It won’t be quick, you must endure.” 

✼✼✼

She was willing. 

His zeal was felt to her marrow. _Purpose._ She would know it. All had been given through time and hardships. Studies upon studies, preparation without goal. _Now_ it would be revealed. The quiet fervor was genuine, a diligence in his gaze. 

Muttering spells and incantations, creating, unlocking och shutting seals and sigils, he began drawing on her skin. First soft strokes of liquids, marking places, nodes and structures. She felt his hands wander over her chilled body, imprinting her with aspiration and resolve. _Purpose._

She knew not half of the words he uttered, nor the sigils soon covering her body, only leaving trailmarks of heat from where his hands visited and left. Brought forth were faint memories of vallaslin from… someone? A mother? A clan sister? She had been too young, the memory too fleeting. There was a sorrow in that fact, but not one she could understand. Left was only ardor before the task, if emptiness had been her lot; _no longer._

“I need you to drink this.” said his voice from above her head, and a bowl of the most eerie concoction appeared before her. She complied readily, without hesitation, swallowing to the last drop. _All will be revealed._

Faint echoes of drops against stone. A scurrying rat. The wind in the universe, growing louder. Taking shape before her eyes, swirling, reveling in rifts of reality. Brighter. Happy. Heavy. Drowsy but awake, aware or glowing runes forming prisons around her body. She could see them now, feel their meaning. They were _ancient._ Primordial energies ran through her like autumn storms tumbling towards winter blizzards past all ages and times before times into a churning void. 

She opened her mouth to scream, with joy or horror she did not know; only the forces did. But naught but silence begat, he body freed from answering her commands. 

Through the shifting supernal tempest she saw him lift the the lyrium infused tools, glowing brighter than her eyes could take. He brought the lyrium edge to the brink of her naked ichor imprinted skin next right above her heart, and she thought he hesitated. Afterwards she would not remember the look of remorse he fleetly gave her, for from that moment the entire world was only blistering bright white _pain_. 

✼✼✼

_Prepare the c_ _hamber._

He carried her pallid lifeless body through the magnificent splendor that was his safe haven; now only echoing footsteps of trepidation. The cellar awaited, arms heavy down steep stairs, slippery ground beneath. Catacombs of secrets, truths and revelations; meaningless. He hurried, almost stumbling. _Get a grip. There._ He ripped open the door. 

The dim room was even dimmer. The dark metal ritual table even colder. 

The magister put his girl down on the sacrificial altar, her pale skin still crackling with sapphire rune energy. _Bring forth the sacrifice._ What was his life if not a sacrifice? _Not now..._

He commenced lighting the candles, the myrrh, muttering enchantments under his breath. Hastily crushing herbs in a wooden bowl, mixing with the contents of several small vials and flasks. I don’t have time. _There is no time._

Seeing in his mind’s eye every ritual they did in this very chamber, what they put her through. _How she has endured._ The flashes, screams and grafted lyrium invocations siphoning power from the rawest of the raw fade. _The sigil was always broken. The prison was shaped. No gears, no locks, but barriers made. The energy is like an ocean. Trapped within a soul, too shallow._

Makeshift ropes tied the limp yet crackling body to the metal table. He poured the liquid between her feeble lips, making her swallow. Wiping off her lower lip with his sleeve, he reached for the lyrium infused tool. **“Septima portas sigillum. Discedat!”** he yelled and cut into her flesh.

_One last time._

✼✼✼

In the eye of the storm of storms. Roaring elemental powers whirled, flickering, swirling, lashing out; icy gale, spirit tempest, sea of fire in an ocean of crashing lyrium waves. In the eye; stillness. 

A small blossom, a fade touched lily. 

Defying the growing current. Quietly yawning, stretching towards the bright sky amidst chaos. Innocence, _endured_. The ocean of celestial worlds raged on in perturbation, consuming all in its path.

Flickering. 

Fade energy convergering. Backwards. Inwards. Implosion with time and space, leaking meaning. 

_There will be a time of meaning, unless the time has meaning, then it will be a convergence of the planes of meaning._

_Bright lights._

_Darkness._

_The Void._

Where the lily was her body now floated. Leyvella. Enveloped in a bright amber light. Resurrecting her in cascades of purpur golds aurelian glimmers, more luminous than life in the midst of unpenetrative darkness. Blazing radiant shapes surrounded her as she formed anew. 

In front of her, on his knees, the magister. 

_This is not real._ His thoughts manifested as lily flowers blossoming around him, taking shape, growing, blooming, withering and dying in one single breath. _She dreamt us into the fade._

“ _HARK_ !” bellowed the shapes surrounding the girl, echoing _hark… hark… hark..._ throughout the nothingness, turning from light to dark, and back again in an endless dance. “ _WE ARE HERE. WE HAVE WAITED. WE ARE SUNDERED. WE HAVE FOUND THE SONG AGAIN. REJOICE. “_

The floating girl stepped down from the air in front of the huddled magister. She was regal now, bright capes forming behind her; behind them black wings covering the skies. 

_I KNOW WHY YOU DID IT_ her mind spoke to his thoughts without sound. She reached down and offered him a hand of shimmering golden brightness. He looked up at her. Her golden eyes enveloped all, swallowing into luminescence the last parts of any thoughts lingering.

A single fade touched lily let it’s last petal go. 

And vanished. 

✼✼✼

He woke up on the damp stone floor. 

Nebulous recollections lingered, hazy understandings of what had just taken place. _She’s a dreamer._

And the lyrium had changed her, awoken something else beyond her. He _sensed it,_ like he had always felt her entire being. Why he chose her. 

_Her._

He threw himself off the ground, looking wildy around him. She was still tied to the table, he rushed and stumbled to her side. Looking down on her porcelaine visage; _she was breathing._ He let his palms maleficently frame her face, stroking a strand of hair from her forehead, kissing it. A single tear left him, falling, rolling across her paleness. The crackling had stopped. _It worked._

She moved. 

The sleeping elvhenan mage languidly opened her eyes. He met them, as if for the first time in a myriad aeons. Her gaze was... not different, it was hers and hers alone. _Stay with me._ They both lingered reveling in, clinging to, that moment; for none had believed it to come. 

Eyes locked with his, she opened up her lips as if to say something, hesitating in uncertainty. Her pink lips parted as she just watched him, perplexed and bewildered, shallowly breathing. Godlike child turned divine; he weak in her presence. _He couldn’t._

 _He couldn’t hold it in anymore._ He met her lips with his. Voraciously kissed her; famished. Desperately. Took what he coveted with all his might. She was his, had always been, she would be his in all ways. Letting go of any doubts and reluctances his feverish kisses moved all over her face, hands wander feeling, grabbing at her every inch. Her soft breasts, fit perfectly in his hands, in his mouth. Her delicate neck in his hands, her breath in his power. His clasped embrace forced her head to tilt toward him, her large eyes viewing his with dread as he ravished her shivering lips, cheeks, neck and down her body. His fist through her tangled hair, his teeth meeting her nipples as the bound elf gasped and struggled in her ropes. 

In rapture he slapped her and forcefully ripped off her remaining clothes, wanting her and _all_ of her, ignoring her rising whimpers. _He had never wanted a woman’s innocence he way he wanted hers. She had all the power in her blood; an irresistible drug, poison and remedy concurrently; he was the firefly and she was the light._

The light. 

For a second he saw her body in the flickering candlelight, and it _was_ a different light. 

The breathless elf tied to the sacrificial altar was covered in cuts and bruises; new, old and even older. The magister stepped backwards and looked at his hands; he was covered in her blood. The runework carved, recarved and opened; all but tearing her from his grasp in the wake. Sigils of faded crimson lacerations traversing her black and blue paleness; in the end all needless valiant suffering. _He couldn’t._

 **_He_ ** _did this to her!_ All _of it._

The magister stumbled backwards, scrambled for footing, and reached for the wall. Watching his dreams unravel in front of him; purpose lost, refound in pulchritude, violated in ill pondered concupiscence, unveiled in painful clarity. Ihe innate vile monstrosity revealed to be none other than himself mortifying beyond shame. _Shame!_ He let go of the wall he was desperately holding on to, and ran out of the door fleeing sins badly remorsed.

_She almost died, and not even that…_

✼✼✼

She was let loose by the tranquil scholar. 

Alone. Befuddled and abashed. Anew, _he left her._

White cold pains only memories; hot sanguine insignias insignificant; rune markings dormant leaving only aimless scars. Though not purposeless; purpose _was_ found _._

Energies convergent found their haven within her. Doors and portals connecting the fade beyond the veil to blood, knowledge forgotten and stumbled upon. Broken sigils recast, differently. Pieces missing, fragments added, assumed but not known. In the hypothesis great powers, predictions of deadly servitude within grasp; in reality potentiality restored, awakened, strengthened, _unleashed._

What others had felt she _lived._

Through her blood cerulean vitality flowed, filled with promises all while dormant. 

She was still left. Without explanation. Bathed and sheltered by the tranquil, tended to with few words, swathed and tucked in shielding covers.

 _Awakened_. 

In innumerable ways. Thoughts freed, fluttering above old truths, piercing barriers. Possibilities endless on endless paths; memories lent, grasping at understanding, wounds soothed in calming tears. Still; like the fireflies of her childhood she would linger allured at but one recurring thought.

_Him._

She knew not what she had seen that day of their reunion, what awakening could bring to life. Brought with her through tormenting ardor, hidden from exploration or possibility of truth. But she had seen into his soul, and exposed universes of hopes, dreams, fears and entire fields of hardships and unbending endeavors. At the center was her.

Viewing herself in his gaze. 

A marvel. Coveted. Child of beauty, woman of desires. Purpose, strength and power, promises of knowledge’s marvels fulfilled. Prodigy found and cherished, sheltered, hidden, _owned._ A world of meaning, a world of pain. She saw herself surrender to horrors, adamant and unshakeable; witnessed relentless inescapable carnal violation met with unrelenting obedience. She felt growing astonished admiration as she witnessed merciless deeds and obstinate submission. 

The shape of warmth. 

She would see his face before her; feeling each and all of _his_ desires towards her like a scorching unquenchable flame, hot white waves overtaking her. 

She had seen meaning, fade given. Understanding, neither deep nor complex but overwhelming and all encompassing. A lifetime of images flashing; sensations felt and doubly lived. 

The song was still humming within her. _The first children._ _They found her._ She would lie deliriously whispering it’s mystifying melody, reliving black winged connections, persisting though growing dimmer. Thus she slept, healing, biding, dreaming of him. 

She would not see him for days, nor for weeks. 

Lessons continued; wounds oversawn. Scripture taught, concentration demanded. What had happened not mentioned as if it never had. A palpable tension in the air, ready for a never arriving incision. Stray words not allowed, any disobedient probing was met with the cane. She knew well the tranquil’s lap, and learned to know silence as her haven and home. 

The silent moans themselves were waiting for something. 

✼✼✼

He would dream of her. 

At night. During the day he buried himself in studies, locked himself in his library pouring over scripture, letters, monographs and assorted jottings. 

Any conviconcievable sources of hidden connections; on lyrium madness; fade philosophy on veil strength; ancient enchantment theory; knowledge doctrines on broken spirit; blood magic manifestos whisperingly attributed to Dumat himself. Mad ravings from lyrium force fed slaves; accounts on abominable flesh sigil experiments dug up in forgotten thaigs of the Deep Roads; and delirious songs scribbled by dreamers while dying in their fade walks all coalesced in his ruminations.

He would go days without sleep. 

Parchment covered his study, scattered opened books and diagrams. Molten candle stubs littered throughout the darkness, some still hosting a flickering flame. 

Night had come. He wished it would grant him forgiveness, if not forgetfulness, but he harbored no such hopes. No longer did he know what he was searching for. _Redemption_. A pleading voice, ignored. 

A part of him beseeching an attempt, a visit, a glimpse of her existence. _Avoidance._ Prevailing. Apostatizing rationality for the escape of visceral reproach. 

He told himself time again that he was _better_ than succumbing to mere distractions of lesser carnalities, emotional weaknesses. He would master it all. There was no place for failings for the likes of him, a prestigious magister, a prodigy the result of a long line of carefully selected heirs. He had to tell himself time and time again, amidst fractured frantical tries to _fix things._

So fell his cimmerian witching hour, intransigent wakenness succumbing to the fatigue of drained exhaustion, pertinacity giving away to bottomless sleep. 

Entering lightless visions. 

Deep in dreaming he found himself wandering a dusky plane. A reign of the unseen permeated the obscure dream realm, filled with humming vespers emanating someplace always just out of sight, etched in perpetual eclipse. 

Then _he saw her._

In his dreams she would always stay at a distance, watching unattainable. Only evoking agony and pained longings, misery if you will. Mourning delusions lost, forcefully erased. 

In woe he yielded anew to amaranthine anguish. 

But this time was different. A potent hue of gold enveloped her, vitality flowing through lambent glowing rays. This time she was palpable, _real_. A dreamlike corporeal embodiment, not anymore a vessel for desires but a longed-after sorely missed mind made creation. 

_She was here._

The girl was a dreamer. Their minds would touch if she wanted it. Pathways of fade led them together, to this place made of his aphotic affections. _And so the flame finds the moth._

He fell to his knees as she strode towards him; gliding adamantly through the changing fields of nightfall, unhesitating. _Why would she come?_

Trembling words dripping with unspoken hunger, longing, _craving_ . “I need _you._ ” Leyvella’s dream form watched him as she spoke, her glow enveloping the both of them in warmth. _“Do not leave me._ ” 

“Why?” He finally asked, bashfully, daunted to meet her gaze. 

The dream moved around them, showing images of their first kiss, warm flames dispersing remorse. Flickering shapes of the two; a limp body carried; a long sought reunion; loyal endurance and ambitious pride; old dreams reforged into deep unvoiced cherishing fondness . They seemed to say that no words were needed, that the inexplicable could not always be explained, reason takes paths astray from sanity. They said _“you do not need to understand, you but need to come back.”_

“But how? Is this what you want? How can you want this?!” his figure yelled out, lifting his arms towards the dark heavens, meeting her eyes with a dark well of inconsolable doubts. 

“Why would you have me as I am?”

The elven bright spirit shape, bearing her large eyes and alabaster hue, white hair flowing behind her, said nothing. She only came closer, leaning down into the theft of a kiss. Silently fulfilling despair’s longing wishes, taking solace and offering forgiveness. Ending aeons of loneliness. Permitting in its fiery embrace the union of desires, promising oneness.

_“Come.”_

✼✼✼

_She wanted_ _him._

As he awoke naught made sense to him, yet one unquestionable truth lingered burning in his heart. _She desired him._ Beyond reason, for sure, though he did not any longer care. 

_I will come._

He jolted himself out of the chaise longue, heaving books and parchments off him rumbling to the floor. Her image aflame in his mind. Shuffling through his desk drawer he found a comb and started to frantically disentangle his black locks. He looked in one of the sconce mirrors meeting a distorted face, rashly kneading through his beard with his hands watching his own sleep deprived eyes. He threw away the comb. _What’s the use?_

Stumbling over flung books he pushed himself out of the library door. The windy corridors robbing him of precious seconds, he ran past stone walls, archways and ancient furniture. Heirlooms and prestigious antiquities now but hindrances on his path. His path to _her_. 

He reached her chamber door. 

_Did he only dream it?_

He jerked it open with a thundering slam, looking wildly for the elven mage. She was sat kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room, eyes closed as if in a meditative sleep. Her frail hands on her lap, snowwhite hair hanging in stillness around her serene visage. 

His heart but stopped in his body, all his senses erupting in convulsions of relentless wanting desire. 

He walked to her kneeling form, and lay his eyes on what he would take as his. What she had given freely. Unbuckling his intricate leather belt, the sounds of clasps clinking and warmth of his presence brought the elvish girl slowly out of her peaceful trance. 

As she opened her eyes to see what she had called to her he met them with a glance of dark appetites. Unfulfillable greed, demanding surrender and complete devotion. 

_What have you unleashed, girl?_

“You would have me?” he said. “All of me, as I am?” stroking her cheek with one finger, lifting her chin up to refuse escape of his gaze. He could feel her breathe, feel her swallow as she answered. 

_“I trust you.”_

“Unwise. What reason have you?” he answered, surveying her every expression. He did not trust himself, how could she, whom he had… He felt her heart racing, her breathing shallow, parted lips trembling. She said nothing, her eyes only pleading. _Had he not understood now, he would never._

“No matter.” he concluded, with the hints of a grin behind his black beard and stern face . 

“You shall have what you have asked for.” 

Belt unbuckled he opened his confining trousers, freeing its contents before her. Glistening veins witnessing of the most madly intense of yearnings, urgent of needs, age-old unsatisfied aches.

“Open, wide.” he said, moving his thumb to her lower lip pressing it into her mouth. Relishing the feel of her wet tongue, he pushed her lip down to gape her delectable mouth. “Hold, just like that.” 

The tip of his erection met her lips and forced its way further into the wet softness of her insides. Grasping her hair, firm in his hands, he savored her gasping whimpers as he went deeper and deeper. “Hush.” He thrust himself into her, holding her thoroughly in place, watching the fear in her eyes grow, feeling himself getting harder deep within her. 

As he finally pulled out she gasped for air, panting heavily. Before she could catch her breath he crouched down and kissed her, feverishly. His tongue exploring her, conquering her luscious velvety lips. He felt her awake in her hands, shyly kissing him back with an innocent hunger and arduously overcome hesitation. He smiled, and held her head back, gripping her hair, as he kept kissing her; biting her lips, her neck, tasting her pale skin, breathing in her knife ears. Her smell was intoxicating, like memories upon memories of repressed cupidity. 

A pang of disquiet went through him as he kissed his way to her naked bosom. His lips remembered the taste of their roundness, and they were filled with regret. This time his kisses were ones of atonement, as his tongue teased her nipples, stiffening under his touch. She could barely control the sounds she made, timid moans of pleasure whispered of wanting more but asking the question of daring to let go. 

“You would have me on the floor?” he asked tongue in cheek, watching her perplexed expression in response. Not waiting for an answer, he lifted her up from the ground, carrying her to the large bed at the end of the room. She curled up around him as he carried her, smelling his hair and kissing his skin o so softly. 

He threw her down on the colorful mattress, more fit for an empress than a lowly slave. The tranquil had seen to certain changes, barely told but understanding. 

He leaned over her, his looming frame covering her small body, intently removing her sheer nightgown. She was left naked below him. He drew on her skin with his fingers, gingerly tracing old dormant marks and places yearning for his lips to traverse in ravenous kisses. 

✼✼✼

The featherlight touch made her shiver as he opened her legs, pushing her white pale thighs apart. Completely exposed, she watched him in frightened anticipation while he unhurriedly removed his remaining garments, forming a pile of black and gold on the chamber floor. 

She was enclosed by his weight and warmth as he descended on her, body against body, skin against skin. Nowhere to go, still her body only screamed out for staying, here and now. Not knowing what awaited, she knew this was her right place and it was with _him._ S _he would walk through fire for this moment_ , and such she had. 

✼✼✼

He looked into her eyes as he pressed his body against hers, relished her fears and confused gasps of lust trailing her skin with stray fingers. His hand reached for her neck and held her head steadfast, between kisses and love bites he snarled “Thus you’re mine” feeling her trembling shape meet his.

_“Don’t move.”_

He moved down her body, leaving lovemarks and feeling her with lips, tongue and teeth. Her softness was driving him mad; he wanted to fuck her relentlessly, rip her up and devour her, and curl up beside her like a child at the same time. No matter it made his determination to have her stronger. 

He reached the silky ivory hairs at the bottom of her stomach, nearing his journey's destination. He kissed his way down and felt her legs tremble. As he opened up her pink lips with his tongue she inhaled sharply and tensed, instinctively pulling her legs together arounds his head. _“Stay still, I said.”_

Relentlessly, he pushed them aside, tasting her ferociously. She moaned as his tongue explored every crevice, finding her sweetest of spots and circling it with esoteric symbols of lust. His fingers found their way inside of her. She pressed her body against his tongue in sighs of rapture. With malicious joy he tested her limits with more and more fingers within her until she could but squirm in his hands. Hearing her soft moans and sobs of perplexed pleasure turn to cries he smiled and pulled back, leaving her empty and desperate. 

His face now above hers, black locks falling around her awestruck eyes, lips hovering beyond her grasp. Under his weight she sensed his pulsating member against her longing empty center. Mid quivering gasp he caressed the lips of her mouth, burrowing his fingers beyond her teeth, feeling the warm wetness of her tongue, making her lick her own tastes with locked eyes. 

_“That's my slave girl.”_

He kissed her nose as he felt her throat with his fingertips, she was perfect, helpless and beautiful. “I will have all of you, _all of you_.” he whispered in her ear, driving his cock inside of her with a growl. Overwhelming sensations, an explosion of pent up carnality; lust and greed in equal measures. He craved more of her as he fucked her into the mattress, delighting in her whimpers. 

He grabbed her hands and held them firm above her head as he ravished her, unleashing every piece of regret into renewed fervor. All moments wanted never gained conjoining in this moment. Like a frantic quest for finding the bottom of her wet endlessness. By the maker she was his, to take, to hold and to use. His palm anew found its way to her throat, pinning her head to the bed, choking her softly while pounding his long-desired slave girl in rapacious strokes. Kissing her flustered lips and face. Groaning with lust and strain, in feverish ardor. 

He suddenly kissed her fervidly, grabbed a hold of her hips and turned the heaving flustered and bemused girl around on all fours. He pushed her silver locked head down into the bedding, and caressed her naked hindquarters. Pale and wondrously rounded, covered in faint fading sigils. 

Grips getting firmer, his hands could not get enough of her soft delights, he felt her surrender under his palms digging into her flesh, parting to reveal her coveted rosy secrets. A finger, two, slipped in. Her back arched upwards. He pushed her down, forcefully, and slapped her perfectly defenseless backside. His hand hit her exposed paleness, leaving a delicate red mark. Enticed he struck her again, and again, enjoying her writhing around the fingers inside of her. Caressing gently between the creations of his delectable marks, blushing imprints of possession. 

She did not shy away but conceded before him, clay in his hands, molded for servitude. 

_My plaything indeed._

Shuddering as he traced the marks he had made she lay still, exquisitely unsheltered and used. He ventured closer making her aware of his warmth against her behind, his hardness searching for a way back into her. With a steady grip around her shivery hips he thrust himself into her depths. Clawing into her back he moaned at the sight of her sublimely debauched. 

His mind raced. _More_. He needed her to submit to him in all ways, endlessly carnally conjoined, entwined into eternity. His thumb found the pink vortex above where his length entered her. The pressure of his digit against the sensitive domain made her shy away. He vigorously pulled her back and pushed harder, saturating her second entrance with ameliorating spittle. 

The entrance was easy. The girl wailed in bewildered shock and astonishment. Rattled, overwhelmed and overpowered she knew sensations never envisioned. Too much. _More._ Pain and pleasure alike blending, merging in a communion of hidden revelries. 

✼✼✼

She sobbed into the sheets of sheer overwhelming joy and trepidation as he made her feel things of intensity only tantamount to torment impelled fade revelations. Her body completely open, experiencing without reprieve. 

Suddenly he stopped, leaving her panting and dazed. Where did he go? She heard the ripping of fabric and suddenly felt him grab her exhausted arms and bring them together behind her. He was tying her wrists closely in the small of her back. Flustered and addled she tried to regain her senses, but her world was but memories of his hands on her, lips on hers, him within her. Her breathing palpitated in eager suspense.

“Stay there.” she heard him say, and then he left. _Left._

She believed he had left the room. Where did he go? Why did he leave? She wanted nothing more at this moment than his lingering touches, anchoring grips and grasps, him at the core of her being. 

_Come back._

The wait seemed perennial. Her aching body and soul wistfully yearning. 

A sound. The door. _Him_. 

He was not alone.

✼✼✼

He watched the denuded being in front of him, walking to her side. Revealed and stripped for his leisure, he let his hands trail her timorous body in waiting. He kneeled besides the bed to watch the expression on her face, stroking away hair from her powerless eyes. Oh she had power, divine, but she had given it all away freely to his complete bewilderment, now she would take all that was him. 

“Don’t be afraid.” he said with a mischievous smile. “You will make it.” 

✼✼✼

Behind him the tranquil came forth, his calm face revealing nothing of their intentions. 

The magister threw off the robe temporarily donned, signaling the tranquil to perform equal measures. The girl struggled in her makeshift ropes watching the two men disrobe and approach her vulnerable positions. 

The magister came up behind her and lifted her up to kneeling, holding her by the shoulders, her bound arms between them. One hand on her chin he turned her head to the side, kissing her softly; letting go of her delicate face to feel her round breasts anew, cupping his hands around them possessively. His lips were all she hungered for, his touch sending shivers down her spine. In the corner of her eye she glimpsed the tranquil positioning himself in front of her. 

With a final kiss the magister smirked and grabbed her hair firmly by her scalp. “Shall we offer him some aid?” She gave him a perplexed look as he brought her head towards the limp member of the tranquil tutor. “ _You know what to do._ ” he said as she hesitated, confused. Trying her best to surmise his will she took the soft cock in her mouth, sliding it back and forth along her tongue aided by the magister’s hand, governing her head. Pressing it deeper as she suddenly could feel it grow within her. Harder, larger, making it burdensome to catch breath. The tranquil started moving against her, pushing it in her with increasing appetite, no escape between them. She struggled to comply. 

“ _Well done._ ” The magister brought her head back up to him, letting her breathe, leaving the tranquil’s erection dripping with her spit, kissing her frazzled lips. She didn’t understand what they wanted, but she conceded ready to do whatever he asked of her. 

The magister lifted her up, making her straddle the tranquil. She looked at them both agape, as the tranquil guided his warm hard erection inside of her, filling her where the magister had just been. She looked in disbelief at her mentor as his large hands moved her hips up and down his shaft, thrusting her old confidant into her inner sanctum. 

The magister still behind her, she could feel his presence and hands upon her. Hot kisses on her neck, a tongue tasting her. A hand pushing her forward closer to the tranquil’s enraptured albeit expressionless face. She felt warm oil drip down her body, hands caressing her lower back and behind, just below her bound hands. _In their mercy,_ she thought.

His thumb found its way back to the place it had explored to her bewilderment. The oil aiding his toying with her sensations, she squirmed in their hands unable to elude their confounding pleasures. She felt the magister stretch her slowly as the tranquil synchronously savored her tender insides.

His other hand searched its way up her profaned skin across her supple breasts to her captivating delicate neck, her shallow breath longing for more of his lips, enveloping her frailness with his palm, feeling her pulse beneath his grip. She whimpered in tortured bliss as he, holding her tight, forced himself into her soon unresisting back passage. 

The elven mage cried out as the two men thoroughly invaded and filled her, tempestuously desecrating her bewildered, pleasured being. ne’er tiring. _Replete_. Finally her eyes rolled back into her head as rapture overcame her, her sweet spots rubbed by the ajoined frenzied motions. 

Her insides convulsed with velvety bliss. 

The magister took notice, and kissed her deeply as he shoved his cock all the harder into her convulsing shaking innards, letting out a feral groan and released deep within her. Buried in her depths, holding her uttermost nigh, still clinging to her body like to the last of hopes. Exoneration in ecstacy, absolvement of euphoric tensions. 

The tranquil halted as the magister pulled out of the exhausted former slave. For thus she was his, body and soul, nor free nor slave. But _his_. He would show her what it meant, in time, due time. 

He lifted her from his partner, looking deep into her eyes with his dark gaze, surrounding her in his impervious embrace. _This was what you asked for, girl._

He kissed her and turned her head towards the tranquil, opening her mouth with his hand holding it thus for the aid’s final sighing release. Thick white warm fluid covered her large eyed face, puzzled awe portrayed in her agape visage. He caressed her cheek, making her lick the moist warmness of his fingers, delighting in the eagerness of the tip of her tongue. _Wanton girl._

Mine _._ He thought. Unconditionally. Irrevocably.

 _Mine_. 

✼✼✼

The calm after the storm. 

She was his now, no longer a mere slave destined for the unthinkable. He freed her, officially. A laetan amongst equals, dressed in the finest silks; introduced to a world beyond her knowing. 

  
In heart perpetually but _his._ Her sigils faded, never lost. A reminder of arduous struggles and true possession. It connected them intrinsically. _Fade woven_. 

She had played with fire. Dared to lick the icy lamp posts of winter. Now fired consumed her and she was caught, tongue first in his grasp. 

_She was home._


End file.
